Static On The Airwaves
by erin-la
Summary: Hamish Watson Holmes visits his father's grave on the third anniversary of his suicide. He talks to him about life without Sherlock and John's recovery. Sherlock can hear, but cannot answer back. Warning: results in an enormous amount of feels.


Author's Note:

This fic is actually an RP I did on Omegle with Tumblr user sherlockedpirate. She doesn't have that URL anymore though and I don't know her new one o.O. So if you're her I would gladly like to give you credit! She RP'd Hamish and I did Sherlock. It turned out beautifully in my opinion. I hope you enjoy, and reviews are always welcome!

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Eight year old Hamish Watson Holmes made his way carefully through the cemetery. The small boy was wearing his school uniform, as he had taken it upon himself not to go to school today. It was the third anniversary of his father's death. He knew he would get into big trouble if his Dad ever found out he had done this but he needed to be here today, not in a classroom learning the things his father had taught him years ago. "Hey, Father." He murmured, pressing a hand to the stone before taking a seat next to it softly.

"Hello Hamish," Sherlock whispered softly, blinking so as to not let the building tear escape.

"It's been three years, I'm not sure if you'd remember it up there in heaven." Hamish said softly, putting his school bag next to him, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in the palm of his hands. "I miss you, a hell of a lot."

Sherlock gazed over at his son. Such a beautiful, caring boy. It killed him inside to see him suffer. The way his hair fell softly over his forehead was definitely from him, but its sandy blonde color was an exact replica of John's. Oh, John.

"I know everyone thinks you're gone, but I think they're all lying. I don't believe you would have just killed yourself like that, not you." He shook his head slightly, pulling the tie from around his neck and throwing it in his bag.

So close. So close he was, he didn't even know how ridiculously close he was to the truth. "He's becoming more and more like me everyday," Sherlock whispered. Poor boy. At least he had John's compassion. And everything else.

"I still play my violin, you know. I never gave up on it after you taught me years ago. Hopefully one day I'll be as good as you and make you proud. I may not be as smart but I could be as talented." He smiled slightly, running a hand through his hair softly in thought.

Sherlock chuckled to himself. Not as smart? he thought. No, Hamish was infinitely smarter than Sherlock. He may not have realised it yet, but boy was he going places. John would make sure of that. John loved that little boy more than anything. Sherlock may not admit it out loud, but he couldn't survive without that man. He loved him more than anyone else...the only one he loved more was Hamish.

"Maybe, just maybe, when you decide to come back...could we play together like we used to? You still have a lot to teach me and I want to be as smart as you are so you could be proud of me and ruffle my hair like you used to." He smiled in memory, trailing the golden letters with his finger softly. "I love you so much Father, we both miss you terribly. Will you come home soon?" he asked softly.

Sherlock wanted to. He wanted to so badly. To play with Hamish again, and teach him everything he knows, and learn a little from the child too. It was all Sherlock wished for anymore. The smile of pride that he and John shared when they saw their bright little boy doing anything. Those sneaky looks across the room. Oh how badly he wanted to return. It pained him so much to know he couldn't. It broke his heart.

"I also now know what you meant about the people at school, Father. I outsmart everyone in my class easily and even a few of the teachers." He chuckled slightly, tapping his fingers against his knees. "They said I could start doing GCSE work in a few months' time if I'm lucky, even though I'm not supposed to start it for a good five or six years yet," he said with a faint smile. "I'm doing really well."

That sparkle. This is what Sherlock waited for. That sparkle in Hamish's eye when he's proud of himself. All Sherlock ever wanted was to give his son the best life he could ever have. He didn't even have to work that hard. The little boy did so much of it on his own. Sherlock wondered how much smarts could be present in just one tiny little being. Of course it had to be Hamish. He was perfect.

"You don't have to worry about Dad either. I'm taking care of him. I'm making sure he eats properly and gets all the rest he needs. He asked me once who the actual parent was in our relationship as a joke before he fell back into silence. He's all right, I think. He's better than he used to be." He said softly, biting down on his lip.

Always taking after John, Sherlock chuckled. John used to do that with Sherlock - he couldn't count how many times he simply forgot to eat or sleep because he was so wrapped up in a case. How he ever managed to survive without the man beforehand was beyond him. At least he was starting to make jokes now - it made Sherlock tear up when he thought about the many times that Hamish told him about John's barely getting out of bed in the morning.

"That's one of the main reasons I'm trying so hard to finish my education. I want to get a job as soon as I can in order to let Dad know he doesn't have to worry about money, if he needs to take a break from work I want him to know that I'll finance him always. Uncle Myc' said that he could get me a job easily when I've got the qualifications." He said softly. "He didn't get up this morning though, but I did leave breakfast on his dresser so he would eat something at least."

He may be young in years, but he's as old and as wise as mountains, Sherlock thought. This was so much responsibility for an eight-year-old - an eight-year-old! He shouldn't have to worry about these kinds of things - finances, and whether or not John was capable of working. But that was Hamish for you. Always looking out deep for everyone. As for Mycroft - well, he would always be there for Hamish, if, if John - Sherlock couldn't even think about it.

"He gets better though, I think. I still take him once a week to see his therapist because of his limp. He has to use his cane everywhere and I'm there for him if he has a bad dream," he said with a slight smile even though it made his heart hurt seeing his Dad so vulnerable and broken down. "He's very brave though, even after everything and I'm proud of him," he said.

The limp. Sherlock hated to think he was the reason for the limp to return - and for John to be in so much pain for it to return nearly said it all. And this little boy - so positive in such an evil-ridden world. How he managed it, Sherlock had no idea. But knowing that John was getting better, even if only slowly, made Sherlock happier than he had been in days.

Hamish sighed, running a hand through his hair softly. Truth be told, the young boy felt much older than he actually was and it wouldn't surprise him if he turned grey in his teenage years with everything he had to do to keep his Dad afloat. "One day I'll make him smile again, I promise you Father. I'll make him smile," he promised the tomb stone.

Sherlock wasn't quite sure how much longer he could carry this on. It's one thing for a child to take responsibility, and a complete other for him to take care of his father as if John was the child. This wasn't how children were supposed to live. They were supposed to play and imagine. Yes, Hamish was different, but Sherlock still didn't want to rob him of his childhood.

"I am able to do this though, Father. I can keep Dad going so if you ever decide to come back to us you have nothing to worry about either. The kids at school think I'm weird and strange but they just don't understand so I ignore them." He smiled slightly, patting the cold stone again before pulling his coat slightly tighter to himself, zipping it up.

Hamish had to be the strongest person he knew. Stronger than John, stronger than Sherlock. He carried so much weight, Sherlock struggled to not reach out and let him free. He was extraordinary, he was fantastic, he was all that Sherlock ever wanted him to be. He was going to make an amazing father one day. "Screw those kids at school," Sherlock grumbled, letting his fatherly instincts take over. "They will never amount to the person my son is becoming."

"I hope I'm making you proud, Father. All I've ever wanted to do was to make you proud of who I was so I always tried my best to be the best person I ever could." He said, his heart clenching painfully tighter with memories. He smiled weakly, bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his own legs after wiping at his eyes as to not disappoint him by crying. "It's hard sometimes but life's not always easy and I understand that greatly."

"Believe me," Sherlock whispered. "Believe me, son, I have never ever been more proud of anyone I have ever met." Sherlock reached out to instinctively ruffle his son's golden hair. He pulled back, the tears welling up in his eyes. "You are my greatest achievement, my proudest accomplishment, and there is nothing in this world that will ever make me think anything different, no matter what you do. I love you, son."

Hamish sniffled slightly, tears spilling from his eyes before he bowed his head, making his forehead rest against his knees as the tears spilt down his cheeks and onto his trousers. He stayed like that for a short while before snapping out of it, pulling his head back up and wiping his face quickly. "I'm sorry Father, I shouldn't be crying like this. I have to stay strong." He apologised quickly, composing himself carefully.

"Crying is not a sign of weakness," Sherlock whispered. Those eyes were like a storm, a storm brewing, they were so beautiful, so mesmerising. "They are a sign of being strong for so long." If only there was some way that he could tell his son that sometimes, no matter what you think, it's okay to just let go and cry a little.

"I'm so sorry," Hamish apologised again, wiping underneath his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. "Crying is for little children and I am not one of those." He insisted, mostly to himself in order to keep himself going strong. "People cry when they're afraid and I have nothing to be afraid of, or scared of," he said softly, coughing slightly to even his voice back out.

"Please smile," Sherlock begged. "Please smile for me Hamish - I know you are strong. Show me the smile that lights up the whole world." Seeing his son like this was the worst heartbreak anyone could ask for. People may think that Sherlock was unbreakable, but they could not be farther from the truth. If there was any instance in which Sherlock was close to faltering, this was it.

Hamish sighed, rubbing a hand along his face tiredly, feeling drained after having to run around constantly and do everything to keep them both strong. "I organised all of your things, they're still in their rightful places but the flat looks tidier now." He commented, stretching his legs out in front of him, furrowing his brow when he noticed he must have had a growth spurt without him realising. "Damn," he muttered, pulling the hem slightly.

He was trying so so hard. At this point, Sherlock could see the exhaustion in his boy's eyes, surrounded by the evidence of sleepless nights. Seeing him like this, Sherlock had to yet again remind himself that this child was only eight years old. He didn't even know what proper eight-year-olds did in their spare time - certainly not this pain.

"It looks like I have to go shopping for school trousers again when I go get food with Mrs Hudson, the genes you gave me seem to make me grow at the most inconsiderate moments." He pointed out, trying to make a joke but the humour never quite reached his voice as he spoke, giving his trousers one last tug before he gave up with them, rubbing his head again.

Sherlock gazed at his son for what seemed like the billionth time. Although this time seemed different. This boy was not the boy that Sherlock had left, this was a growing adult, a boy who had seen beyond his years. Yes, his trousers were indeed too short. Sherlock nearly chuckled at the sight. John made jokes all the time about how he was always going to be the shortest one in the family. Now Sherlock could see it was true.

"If we don't have the money for some new ones I could always ask Uncle Myc' if there was anything he needed doing to get a bit more money in the house," he said quietly before shrugging. "But I'm sure we have enough." He nodded, running a hand through his hair, making it stick up slightly without him realising.

One thing Hamish didn`t know what that Sherlock had an account hidden away for him - for him and John to survive on. John knew this, and Sherlock had made him promise that if anything ever happened to him, John would not refrain from using that account. It was the one thing Sherlock could guarantee would go right - he wasn`t about to let his family go bankrupt. Hopefully John recovered soon - Sherlock didn`t want to think what Mycroft would think of him if he suspected Sherlock abandoned his family.

"Maybe Dad will get better soon though, his therapist said he had been getting slowly better but he's still a long while away from getting near anything that he used to be like. He barely speaks any more either, only sometimes when I ask him a direct question. Even then I may have to prompt him or ask several times before he responds. He's lost without you, I can tell you that," he admitted, catching his reflection in the smooth stone and flattening his hair back down quickly.

Sherlock was drained. He knew that his little boy could only carry on for so much longer...John was making progress, yes, and that was brilliant, but will he progress fast enough for Hamish to continue holding on? Sherlock couldn't even think what would happen if both John and Hamish both let go - he prayed to whatever was listening that John came out of this spiral to hold on for his son, even if that meant forgetting Sherlock.

"I can wait though, I can wait for however long it will take Dad to get better. She said everyone progresses at their own rate and that I'll just have to be there for him through the different stages which I am doing." He smiled lightly, making sure he looked presentable and not like a little kid any more. "He'll hopefully be proud when he gets better, that's what I'm hoping anyway but I have Mrs Hudson to keep me company when I'm not busy so it's all good."

Ah, Mrs. Hudson. How could Sherlock ever forget? Of course Mrs. Hudson would take care of Hamish. And John too. She always did, even before Hamish was in the picture. They could always count on her. In his worry of his son's seemingly growing responsibilities, somehow Sherlock , er, misplaced Mrs. Hudson's presence. He felt as if a thousand pounds were lifted off his shoulders. Yes. He put his faith in Mrs Hudson to protect his two best boys.

"I'm grateful for Mrs Hudson being there, even though her hip's getting much worse and she's finding things difficult sometimes I wouldn't have been able to do this without her, she taught me basic things like how to cook a few things and do the washing but I do things in the flat on my own as not to trouble her, she has things to worry about herself." He smiled a bit more but the exhaustion never left him.

Finding this out was terrible - Mrs. Hudson had been there for them always. The possibility of not having her there for Hamish now or when he got older was disturbing. Of course Sherlock knew of abandonment and death but Mrs. Hudson always seemed like the unconquerable type. This stressed Sherlock out beyond the means - it was getting more and more difficult to think of ways to preserve Hamish's adolescence.

Hamish checked the watch on his wrist quickly, seeing what the time was before he sighed, noticing it was drawing closer to midday already, how the time flew when he was sat here. "I hope Dad's gotten up and ate something today, I'm always worrying about him when I leave for school. Sometimes I'll sneak out at lunch to check up on him," he admitted before checking his phone, placing it back in his pocket when there were no messages to be read.

If only Sherlock could just reach out and touch Hamish, tell him everything is going to be okay. Looking at his son, he could only think about how much he just wanted to take him in his arms and rock him, like he was a baby all over again. Tell him, "I know it seems hard now, but everything will always get brighter." He just didn't need to be worrying about these things at this age.

"I wish you were back, Father," he admitted again, sighing and curling himself back up with his knees against his chest, rocking himself slightly on his toes before he shook his head, stopping the action with a furrowed brow. "Maybe you could tell me how I could help Dad get better, you were always the best at that and you always knew how to make it right." He said softly, sniffing again.

"His favorite things," Sherlock whispered. John loved it when Sherlock brought home his favorite pie, or that special blend of tea that Sherlock tracked all over London to find. "You could always take him for a walk down the park, remember our walks Hamish? He loves those."

Hamish sighed again, running a hand through his hair and rocking himself slightly again and pressing his forehead against his knees. "I'm trying father, I honestly am. I'm trying a lot of things in order to make him happy, but it's hard when he sometimes refuses to leave the flat," he murmured.

"Tell him that Father said he has to get up," Sherlock smiled. "Tell him I said that if this ever happens, it is in his best interest for him to spoil you rotten, to eat ice cream and to not make the beds and to not eat your vegetables at dinner!" Oh how Sherlock wished Hamish could hear him. He would do anything to raise that frown into the smile Sherlock knew and loved.

"I should just stop telling you my problems now, I'm sure you're fed up with hearing them as they're not pleasant to hear about." He said quietly, shaking his head and trying to pull himself back together, wiping at his red eyes. "Lestrade's had good news, the divorce's finally over and he's gained some custody of his boys," he told the tombstone softly.

It was good to hear news of Lestrade. Sherlock could never decide whether he was a friend or an enemy - it depended on the day. But right now, he was a friend, and to hear that at least someone was somewhat happy made Sherlock happy. He knew how much those boys meant to Lestrade - and Sherlock knew first hand what it was like to be separated from your sons, and he wouldn't wish it upon anyone.

"He tried to teach me how to play football as well when I was younger, but now I don't have the time to do so. I'm glad that he's got his boys back, he's happier around the Yard now and he gets less stressed than he used to do." He told him softly, trailing his hands over the granite softly, feeling the coldness. "I can't imagine what Lestrade was going through but I'm glad it's over for him."

"I can," whispered Sherlock. He could, but it was different. He could see his son, hear him, feel his presence, but he could not touch him. Sherlock would do anything in the world to make Hamish feel even the slightest better. If only John would get out of bed and hug Hamish, like he used to, every morning before he was sent off to school - that would be a major step forward.

"I wish everything would be better again and that you would come home, making everything like it used to be." He sighed, running a hand through his hair again, crossing his legs. "We miss you, so bloody much Father. Why did you do this?" He asked, trembling slightly before pulling his coat closer to him again.

"I'm sorry Hamish, I'm just so so sorry." Sherlock was on the verge of tears, something that used to be uncommon but now was occurring every time Hamish visited him. Today seemed to be one of the bad days - of all the talks they had - well, they kind of had - Hamish seemed to be having a really hard time on this day. Sherlock desperately hoped that John hadn't spun deeper - poor little Hamish would not be able to take it.

"I mean...I'd understand if it was for something important...But I don't see why...did we do something wrong?" He asked, knowing he had asked that very question countless times and was not receiving a response; he was hardly going to receive one now so he didn't know why he kept asking. "I don't seem to be old enough to understand, but I could try..."

"Hamish, my dear Hamish, you could never do anything wrong enough that would make me harm you," Sherlock muttered. "If only you knew how much I love both you and Dad..." Sherlock shook his head. There was no way to explain it to Hamish. He didn't even know if he understood himself.

"It was just so sudden…you didn't even say goodbye to me at all..." He sighed, hiding his face away as his body trembled slightly, a small cough forming before he wiped his eyes again. "I...I should go and check on Dad..." He whispered slightly, pulling his face back up to look at the stone.

"I'm just so...sorry..." Sherlock drifted off. He could see Hamish was struggling with himself. Struggling with the emotions inside..."He's angry at me," thought Sherlock, "and quite right too." John could definitely use Hamish's presence more than Sherlock could. Sherlock wasn't the one struggling with the will to get out of bed.

"I...I love you Papa...I wish I could...See you again..." he whispered, standing up carefully, and holding onto the tombstone to stop himself from toppling over onto the grass."I'm going to do my best to look after Dad...I'll make him better..." he whispered, wiping away the tears that were spilling without stopping from his eyes.

"I love you as well my son," whispered Sherlock, those tears making a re-entry. "I promise you, you will do better with Dad than any therapist could even try." Sherlock had the utmost confidence in his son - even with the struggles that he has been going through every day, Sherlock knew that even if John saw for one minute the little boy Hamish used to be, his mood would improve significantly. It was just the kind of charm John couldn't resist.

"I'll make it work Papa, I promise," he said, picking up his bag and resting one hand on top of the gravestone. "I'll make you proud...I'll keep everything together as best as I can for when you come back..." His voice wavered as more tears dripped from his face. "I can do this..." he said, mostly to reassure the eight year old boy inside of him, knowing he was acting way above his own age.

"Yes, you can," smiled Sherlock. "You are John and mine's son, which means you can do anything." Sherlock winked - Hamish could not see but it made Sherlock feel better all the same. "I believe in you son; I believe in Hamish Watson Holmes." Sherlock took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "Give Dad a huge hug for me Hamish. I love you."

"No matter what anyone says...you're not a fraud, father. I know you're for real. Everyone else are just idiots and do not see what's in front of them," he assured, running his fingers over the name softly before he stepped back. "I believe and I always will, I can tell Dad does too..." he said. "Come home soon, please?" He begged, bowing his head slightly.

"Thank you Hamish - that means more to me than you may think," Sherlock whispered. "I'll always be there in your hearts, remember that. Always." Sherlock turned away, trying to make the separation easier, but he couldn't resist looking at his son just one more time before the day ended. This little boy was his life; how he ever thought this would be easy was beyond him. John's hair, John's eyes, and of course, Sherlock's build. He was the perfect combination. Such a beautiful little boy.

"I'll be back soon enough, probably tomorrow 'cause I'll have to take care of Dad when I get home..." He sighed, feeling a fresh wave of tears spill down his cheek before turning on his feet carefully and walking away from the grave, his head bowed lowly so no one would be able to see the pain and exhaustion that littered his face. He couldn't do this anymore - but he had to, for the sake of his own family.


End file.
